


the power of

by catsvspatriarchy



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:51:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8196664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsvspatriarchy/pseuds/catsvspatriarchy
Summary: She lies awake for a long time, thinking about everything she's going to have the chance to do in the future.
-
Patty, over time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hello ghost friends,
> 
> so i thought to myself: i know what fandom loves more than anything. GEN FIC! yeahhhhh

It turns out Abby and Patty live a block from each other. They find out when they're riding the subway home together, both waiting for the other to peel away in their own direction. It's kind of awkward, and when they walk down the street together and stop in front of Patty's building Abby points down the street, laughing. It's not really weird, since Patty probably wouldn't even recognize half of her immediate neighbors, but it's kind of funny when you think about it.

After that, they wait for each other in the mornings. Patty's an inveterate early riser, and she knows a hole-in-the-wall coffee stand that she promises will make Abby's eyes roll back in her head. She buys the coffee and meets Abby out front of the station, and tries not to make too much fun of the fact that Abby's usually blinking like a koala bear in the morning light. Not a morning person, obviously.

Over time, it gets comfortable and part of their routine. Patty's been a little shaken ever since she first saw the ghost in the subway. It's like someone told her that down is up, and she's a little disoriented afterward. She deals with it, because the others do, and because no-one likes a crybaby. It's unsettling, though, and going to work at regular times and helping the others with their research and yes, the morning coffee routine with Abby help her get her bearings again.

She sees and chats with her old coworkers sometimes when she's taking the subway. More often than not, though, she doesn't see anyone she knows, and that's weird too. She finds herself wondering about how Miguel's granddaughter is going with her ADHD, if Brandon had fun on his Tinder date, and if Rosie's read any good books lately. Patty misses their stories, even though she's living her own.

She and Abby usually chat about work or inconsequential things on the ride in. Abby's easy to be around in a way that Holtzy and Erin aren't: calm enough to let silences stay and she's not so wrapped-up all-consumed by work as the others. She can carry on a conversation of words less than three syllables, she watches Game of Thrones, and she notices things like the strange, possibly dangerous smells in the lab that Erin and Holtzmann seem oblivious to.

Patty glances at the booth every time they walk past it. There's a new hire working it. She doesn't know him, and the one time she tried to make conversation he sighed loudly and asked her what information she needed. She gets it. Dealing with the public all the time can tire out your heart. She remembers clearly days when everyone seemed grumpy, when no matter how much she tried to help people they weren't satisfied. You can't please everyone, but it still gnaws at her a little bit sometimes. Patty's always wanted to do good work. 

"You miss it, huh?" Abby says one day while they're waiting at the platform. 

It smells strongly of urine and it looks like someone spilled a full soda at the edge of the platform - they watch a man in an expensive suit slip in it.

"Miss what?" she asks, not meeting Abby's eyes.

"This," Abby says, and gestures around her. "Every day you walk past the booth and you kind of get this look in your eye."

"No," says Patty. "There's no look. You're talking crazy."

"Oh," says Abby. "You don't miss it?"

"Well, that'd be pretty stupid of me, wouldn't it? I got this new job," she gestures down at her coveralls - they're not exactly a fashion statement, but she's used to uniforms. "I got a bunch of best friends who are always there for me. I got cutting edge science stuff literally no one else in the world knows about. I got my picture in the paper! My dad cut it out and stuck it on his fridge."

"But you don't miss this?"

Patty sighs, and regrets it when she gets a further, stronger whiff of pee. "Maybe," she says, grudgingly, after a minute. "A little. Just sometimes. I kind of miss tourists, you know?"

Abby looks perplexed. "I – don't think I do know?"

"Well," Patty says. "People come in all the time who aren't from New York. They're looking to get to their hotel, they're looking to see the sights, they maybe don't know how to get where they want to go. I always helped them. I can figure out their route for them, get them where they want to go as fast and as easy as possible. They want the best sandwich in New York, I can tell them where to go and where they'll be paying too much. I can tell them never to pay more than a dollar for a hot dog. I can tell them about the little museums and the off-off-off Broadway stuff that's not going to be in their brochures. It's - it's connections, you know? Connecting the wires to the right place so everything runs smoothly, and so everyone has a great time."

Abby's watching her with a smile. "Connecting the wires. You sound like Holtzmann."

Patty shakes her head. "That is a terrible thing to say to me, Abigail."

* * *

Patty's got a good place in their team. She helps with the research, where she's able, although she's no scientist. She's got a good eye for what makes sense and what doesn't. Sometimes she can identify problems that the others have been arguing in circles about, and it makes her feel useful.

It's not perfect. She's not stupid and she knows she's not stupid, but she's out of her depth when the others are talking easily about quarks and hadrons and whatever other Star Trek bullshit they talk about. She's great on a bust, she knows that. She's calm and strong and capable. She's just not like the others. That's okay. It's mostly okay.

They're kept busy. Erin has all kinds of explanations why there are so many ghosts around, and they make sense when Patty thinks about them, but mostly she doesn't think about them much. Her head's quieter when she's working, so she concentrates on the work, and on always being focused, and being part of the team. It's easy, with the team she has. She loves them all. Sometimes they drive her nuts, but she's got a big family, so she's used to that.

She works for the Ghostbusters for the next three years, and she does good work. After a while, though, she starts to feel a kind of gnawing at her bones. 

One day Holtzmann finds her application for grad school, and looks at her like she kicked a puppy. Patty hates the thought of leaving them, but she needs something else. She spent more than fifteen years at the MTA, in and out of community college and in and out of relationships with terrible boyfriends. She didn't want for more back then, but now her eyes have opened. Her feet are restless.

* * *

She gets into graduate school. Erin and Abby are sad to hear it, but happy for her new opportunity. Erin pretends she's not crying, does that weird thing with her hands and says: “I'm so happy for you oh what are we going to do without you oh you're going to be amazing I am so so proud of you.” Patty hugs her gently - _her Erin_ \- and feeling a little misty herself, co-opts Erin's kleenex to blow her nose.

Abby hugs her with bone-cracking intensity and whispers fiercely in her ear that Patty will always have a place with them and she better not even think of losing touch, not even for a day. They go to their favorite bar and Abby orders them a pitcher of beer so they can toast to Patty's future. Patty doesn't point out that they toast for a million mundane things, such as getting new letterheads. She just sits back and feels the pull in her chest and the butterflies in her stomach, and the feeling that she's on a new road.

Holtzmann is less pleased. She's silent and sullen in a way Patty's never seen her before. She walks out of the room when Patty breaks the news, and doesn't come back that night even though Patty sees Erin furiously texting her. When Patty and Abby get to work the next morning, Holtzy's already there, banging metal parts together until Patty's head hurts and ignoring everyone's attempts at conversation. She wears her goggles down over her eyes all day.

Patty's usually the one who smooths over arguments and helps everyone understand each other. Erin's overly sensitive; Abby takes forever to cool down; Holtzmann picks at people when she's upset. All of these are issues Patty can deal with, and she takes some pride in being the one who reminds everyone why they're friends.

But Holtzmann stonefaces her for three days, and it's more than Patty expected, and it hurts. She tries talking calmly, tries going through Erin, eventually tries yelling. Holtzmann does her work and talks to Erin and Abby and pretends like Patty's not even there.

On the third day, Holtzmann spends the day welding new shielding for proton packs. In the late afternoon Abby and Erin leave for the day, and Patty goes back to the lab and watches Holtzmann work. She sits on the opposite side of the room, puts on a spare pair of safety glasses she finds, and just watches. 

It's not long before Holtzmann stops welding and takes out some smaller electronic boards. It doesn't escape Patty's notice that she's only made three new shields. She doesn't say anything, just takes the glasses off (those things are _ugly_ ) and keeps watching.

Her butt goes numb within an hour, and it's boring as hell watching Holtzy attach tiny wires to other tiny wires with tiny wire-attaching instruments. Patty puts her elbow on the table next to her, her head in her hand, and keeps watching.

It's late when Holtzmann starts packing up, and Patty's almost dozed off. She starts awake when Holtzmann knocks a glass beaker off one of the shelves and has to stifle a yell.

“Sweet Jesus, Holtzmann,” she says, when her heartrate slows enough to let her speak.

“It's actually Jillian Marie,” Holtzmann says, trying ineffectually to sweep the broken glass into a pile with one foot, and Patty's never been so happy in her life to hear a stupid joke.

* * *

They go out for sandwiches, and Patty buys Holtzmann an extra large, because she's glad the silent treatment's over and because Holtzmann never has cash and will survive on breath mints before actually doing anything about that.

“You want to talk about this?” she asks, after Holtzmann sits down in a booth near the counter. 

“The sandwich?” Holtzmann asks. “Sure. It's turkey on rye, extra mayo, extra mustard. I hate the lettuce they use, but you know how I don't like to criticize.”

Patty snorts. “Not the sandwich.”

“Oh,” says Holtzmann. “The other thing.”

“The other thing,” Patty agrees, and waits, again. It's frustrating as hell, dealing with Holtzy like this. Patty's used to fixing arguments and talking about issues. It's the way she works.

“I don't want you to leave us,” Holtzmann says finally, and unwrapping it, takes a savage bite out of her sandwich.

There's a long moment where the only sounds are Lite FM playing Madonna, and Holtzmann chewing so hard Patty's afraid she's gonna bust a tooth. She narrows her eyes.

“Baby, if you think I'm leaving you, you're the dumbest PhD I ever met. And remember, I met that idiot biochemist-whatever dude who was sniffing around Erin.”

Holtzmann wrinkles her nose at the memory. “God, he was awful, wasn't he? Awful Alan. You know, I've got a friend who works at Social Security. I'm pretty sure for the right price she'd legally change his first name to Awful.”

“Don't get me off the subject. I'll still be around. I won't be at work every day, but this is still my business, too. And I am never, ever leaving you. You can't get rid of me that easily, and if you want to try, we're gonna have a fight.”

Holtzmann dips her head, and looks at her from under a fall of crazy hair. “I don't want to try,” she says.

“Well, good,” says Patty. “Maybe next time we can have this conversation straight away, instead of acting like three-year-olds.”

“You didn't act like a three-year-old,” Holtzmann says, frowning. “I did. I'm sorry.”

“I was trying to be polite so you wouldn't feel like a complete asshole,” says Patty. “Now eat your damn sandwich, that thing cost me eight bucks.”

“Thieves,” Holtzmann agrees, tipping her head toward the counter, and winks.

* * *

Patty is a groomsman at Holtzmann's wedding.

It's on the beach, because clearly there's no way Holtzmann could be a normal person and get married inside. Instead Patty's going to get sand in her shoes and possibly other places. She hates sand.

“You couldn't get married in a hotel,” she grumbles, on the morning of the big day, while she and Holtzmann set out chairs. Patty drives them into the sand so they won't blow away in the breeze. Holtzmann's are all falling over already. “There are so many haunted ones. You could have got a discount!”

“Patty,” Holtzmann says affectionately, and walking back to get a few more chairs, chucks her under the chin. Patty pushes her hand away. 

“It's all about the romance,” Holtzmann says over her shoulder, and Patty snorts.

When they've finished setting up, Patty goes to change into the rainbow-colored dress her cousin helped her pick out. It looked ridiculous on the hanger in the store, but when Patty tried it on her cousin whistled and clapped her hands, and when she looked in the mirror, she had to admit it looked pretty damn perfect.

Holtzmann laughs her ass off when she sees her, so that was even more perfect, since Holtzmann was starting to look a little green at the thought of standing up in front of a group of people (a small group of people, but still) and speaking legible sentences.

“Trying to upstage the brides?” Holtzmann asks, when she's recovered her breath. 

Patty narrows her eyes.

“I'm just saying,” Holtzmann says. “You look amazing.”

“Of course I do,” Patty says, lifting her chin. “I wouldn't wear anything that wasn't show-stopping for your wedding. And I _know_ I'm not going to upstage Aria. I don't promise anything about your skank ass.”

Holtzmann grins. “I'll be surrounded by the four most beautiful women in the world, Patty. I'm sure I'll look a little inadequate.”

“You shut up and go get dressed,” Patty tells her. “I still think it's going to rain.”

It doesn't rain, but it's cold and windy and the sand, as Patty predicted, goes everywhere. During the ceremony, they shield their eyes and Erin reads a poem Aria picked out and Abby and Patty try to huddle for warmth, while still looking like they are doing groomsmen duties, whatever those are. They never truly find out.

* * *

Her brother and sister-in-law have another kid. It's another boy, tiny and perfect, and Patty babysits delightedly, while insisting she doesn't change diapers (she does) and that kids are more trouble than they're worth (they're not, but that doesn't mean she wants them for herself).

She brings him to the Ghostbusters HQ occasionally, when it's going to be quiet there. The others go into a flurry of activity at the sight of them, though. Holtzmann builds baby toys that are way, _way_ too complicated for his stage of development, and Abby pinches his little cheeks and talks what she probably thinks is appropriate baby talk. Erin's a surprise. She's such a coiled spring under normal circumstances that when Patty lets her hold Tyrone for the first time it's a shock. He calms when Erin strokes his forehead; he snuggles into her immediately; he stares at her wide-eyed with wonder as she supports his head like she's been doing it all her life.

“You're a drug, girl,” Patty laughs, and Erin smiles.

* * *

Patty turns fifty while she's in the last stages of the final draft of her thesis. She's driving herself insane, and there are post-it notes on literally every flat surface of her apartment. When Holtzmann suggests a party, she's tempted to strangle.

Instead she spends the day rewriting the same paragraph and forgetting about the cups of coffee she made herself that end up scattered around her apartment. 

In a way, it's frustrating as hell. In another way, this is her story she's writing; this is why Patty Tolan went back to school and this is her chance to talk about what she loves and have people listen. 

It's not so bad really. When she thinks about it, it's actually kind of great. 

She rephrases the paragraph again. It's going to be perfect. It's going to be hers.

Abby shows up at dinnertime with their ubiquitous Chinese food, a six-pack of energy drinks, and a cupcake with a candle in it. Patty lets her in, even though she'd warned everyone she knew that if they so much as came near her before she was finished, they'd regret it.

"Erin and Holtzmann told me you'd kill me," Abby laughs. "But on the chance I made it through the door, they send their love."

"You've never been good at avoiding stuff that will kill you," Patty grumbles, looking for a clean cup so she can make coffee for Abby. She used to have more cups than this, right?

She gives up after a while, and they both sip energy drinks while eating their mu shu pork. 

"This stuff feels like it's dissolving my stomach lining," Patty says, studying the label on her drink.

"It's what all the college students drink, Patty," Abby says. "You want to be cool, don't you?"

It's not really funny, but Patty laughs so hard she snorts, and then eats too much and splits the cupcake with Abby. Abby hugs her goodbye before she leaves. 

"We've got you, you know," Abby says, somewhere in the vicinity of her shoulder. "You need anything, all of us are always here for you."

"The same," Patty says. "Tell Erin and Holtzy not to be such cowards next time. Or no, don't. Let me get this godawful thing finished, and then I can be a human again."

"It's not godawful," Abby, pulling back out of her arms. "It's your thesis, Patty. It's brilliant." 

"You haven't even read it," Patty says. 

“I don't need to,” Abby says, and lets herself out.

* * *

In the spring before Patty graduates, Erin is diagnosed with cancer.

"It's not like it used to be," Erin says, not meeting her or Abby's eyes. They're in the office and it's late in the afternoon, that peculiar time of day when shadows reach under their front door and the light's at the right angle to blind them through the windows. On her way in, Patty had noticed what a pretty evening it was going to be. "They use smaller doses for the chemotherapy, and, and, radiotherapy. It's more effective, more targeted, it's not so- um, I don't remember the word-" she passes a hand over her forehead.

Patty watches for a moment, waiting to see if Erin's going to keep speaking. She hates to interrupt people. When it's clear Erin's done, she stands up and walks over to where Erin's leaning against her desk.

Erin looks up at her then. She's schooled her face into the kind of nothing's-wrong fake pleasantness Patty used to see from her a lot when they first met. Patty thinks about how much Erin's changed from those days; how much they've all changed, learning the best traits from one another and letting go of some of the parts of themselves they don't need.

She takes another step forward, and wraps Erin in her arms.

Erin starfishes when you hug her sometimes: this kind of arms-straight-out shock that someone touched her. It always makes Patty sad. It's a clear sign she hasn't been hugged enough, Patty thinks.

Not this time, though: Erin folds into her, tiny and tense and hot. She always forgets how small Erin is. After a moment, Abby gets up and joins them, one arm around Erin, one around Patty.

"Baby, everything's gonna be alright," Patty says fiercely. "We'll do this together."

"Holtzmann-" Erin says, muffled from under Patty's arm.

Holtzmann had excused herself after Erin told them her diagnosis. Abby went after her, but Holtzmann had vanished out the door already. None of them had mentioned it since, but Patty thought she could probably power a generator with the fury silently radiating off Abby.

"Holtzmann will sort her shit out," she promises Erin, and glances at Abby. 

Abby nods, drawing back to pat Erin on the shoulder like she's a dog. "We are _all_ going to fix this," she says, and Erin lifts her crumpled face from Patty's arm, and attempts a smile.

* * *

Abby and Patty and spend five months or so pretty much holed up in Erin's apartment watching Erin's hair fall out, and Bridezillas. Erin's too tired for just about anything else, so there's a lot of TV. A lot.

Patty buys her the prettiest green-and-blue headscarf she can find, and becomes a regular at two different bakeries trying to find treats that will tempt Erin's appetite. 

Erin's tougher than she looks, Patty knows. She's seen how much fire there is below the surface; she's seen this woman fight in situations that would make anyone else run screaming. This isn't so different, she tells herself.

Holtzmann, with her perpetual soft spot for Erin, is bereft in a way none of them can touch, and Patty spends a significant amount of time over the months banging on the door to Holtzy's lab, trying to make conversation, and muttering that if she wanted this shit, she would have had kids.

* * *

Patty graduates. Eight of her cousins attend, along with two of her aunts, her uncle, and her dad. Her brother brings Tyrone, now a chubby two year old, and his older boy Matthew, now thirteen and too cool for family functions, although he grudgingly hugs Patty in congratulations. Abby and Erin and Holtzmann stand in the back with the rest of her family since they were all too late to find seats, and they're too far out for Patty to see them clearly when she collects her diploma, but she knows they're there.

They go out to early dinner afterward, and Patty feels herself recharging. She's always been better surrounded by people; talking to them and taking care of them. It centers her within herself.

Erin wears a long-sleeved dress and the headscarf Patty bought her. She's wan by the time they go to eat, and Patty's annoyed when she finds out Erin was standing all through the ceremony.

"I tried to convince her to go sit down," Abby says, rolling her eyes. "But she wanted to stay with everyone."

They haven't commented on Holtzmann, who's in the same place as the three of them for what seems like the first time in months. She's been uncharacteristically quiet today, and Patty sees her keep glancing at Erin.

There's a light in Erin's eyes that Patty hasn't seen in some time, though, so she guesses it's not all bad. She's not surprised when Erin begs off dinner though, saying she'll go home to rest.

"I'll take-" Abby starts to say, and then stops when Patty elbows her.

"I can take you home," Holtzmann says, hesitantly.

Patty hurts looking at her: her clumsy-hearted idiot friend who can't keep her emotions inside and still thinks she has to try. She looks like she's expecting to be beaten down. Patty doesn't understand her, but she loves her fiercely, with every piece of her soul.

"That'd be nice, Holtzmann, thanks," Erin says, simple as that, and threads her hand into the crook of Holtzy's elbow. Holtzmann looks for a moment like she's been slapped with a hot iron, and then she relaxes, and her lip twitches. It's been a long time since Patty saw her smile, she realizes.

So she and Abby and her relatives make up the noisiest party in the restaurant, and at the bar afterward, minus the kids. They eat and drink and tell stories. Her aunts reminisce about Patty as a little child, and tell embarrassing stories and how they always knew she'd do great things. Patty laughs and tells them to shut up. She doesn't really want them to shut up.

Her dad gives a mini-speech about how proud they all are and how proud her mom would have been. Patty's had several drinks by then, and the words combined with Abby and everyone looking at her with shining eyes make her tear up. It's a good day. She goes home to her apartment with her head kind of spinning and kind of singing, and she lies awake for a long time, thinking about everything she's going to have the chance to do in the future.

* * *

Patty applies for a job in one of New York's most prestigious high schools. At first she's ambivalent - should she be helping more disadvantaged kids? Does she want to work somewhere like this, where the other teachers all have terrible dress sense and the principal goes on and on about instilling core values and ethics and a sense of responsibility? It all seems too serious for Patty, and anyway she won't get the job, because the dyed streaks in her hair are now green and blue, in solidarity with Erin, and she wears a bright red dress to her interview because they might as well know who she is right from the start.

She gets the job, to her surprise. She guesses having new Mayor of New York Jennifer Lynch as one of your references probably carries some weight.

* * *

Holtzmann and her wife separate. It's not a surprise – there are months beforehand where Holtzmann is cold and still, and doesn't want to interact with anyone but her beloved machines. Patty doesn't know all the details, although sometimes she overhears phone conversations when she can't help it, and she worries.

She can imagine it's not altogether easy living with Holtzmann. She's such an all-or-nothing person; she's either robotic or she's spilling out of the lines, uncontrollable. Patty and Erin and Abby love that about her, but then, they love most things about her. Sometimes Patty wonders if anyone else can ever fit inside the group the four of them make. If they'll ever let anyone.

Patty always liked Aria. They stay Facebook friends and sometimes meet for coffee.

But Patty is Holtzmann's person, through and through. She buys beer and sandwiches, and queues up a bunch of stupid alien movies on Netflix. They'll get through this.

* * *

Erin's cancer goes into remission, and they celebrate with sparkling grape juice, since Erin's stomach doesn't handle the hard stuff so well any more, and cupcakes from the bakery Patty started frequenting what seems like years ago, but in fact is less than a year. Patty can't help herself: she tells the girl behind the counter who usually serves her the good news, and she calls out the baker and they hug Patty and wish her friend well and joke about how it was probably all the cupcakes that _really_ helped.

On the way to Erin's apartment, Patty tells people on the street, too. They probably thinks she's crazy. She doesn't care.

* * *

Patty loves teaching, but finds she hates the power politicking that her fellow teachers seem to want to make it all about. She keeps to herself, mostly, but she's always polite and she makes a few friends.

It's easier with the students than she'd feared. She wasn't sure she'd be able to relate to the overeducated kids she's supposed to help learn history; they have phones that probably cost more than her car, and there are a few snotnosed brats who wouldn't last a second in her family without getting smacked by at least one of her aunts.

But that ends up being a small issue. There's something about trying to make history come alive for these kids; about making it important to them; about showing them why they should care. Patty realizes how tired she's gotten over the last few years when she sees ideas ignite in her kids, and when they ask her questions that make her think. Their electricity sparks down to her toes.

She does lunch with her girls when she has time, and she sees them exchanging glances and smiling when they see how enthusiastic she is when she's talking about work. Patty doesn't mind. She's always worn her heart on her sleeve. She doesn't know how to be any other way.

* * *

Patty dates, when she feels like it. It's not like she doesn't get asked, it's just that she's not really looking for anything any more; not like she was in her twenties. She's got a job she loves; she's got friends who would die for her; she's got Saturday nights drinking or watching documentaries with Abby; she's got brunch with Erin; she's got late-night fix-the-world conversations with Holtzmann. She's got more second cousins and cousins-once-removed than she can count, and they jump on her and cling onto her like damn barnacles, and beg for ghost stories. She's Scary Aunt Patty, and she's never been so proud of a title.

She's got her nephews, growing bigger all the time: Matthew a serious-faced teenager who likes science and math and consistently beats her ass at video games; Tyrone a loud wiseass who's somehow still a cuddlebug. It'll change as he gets older, so Patty takes every opportunity to get a hug. She makes the most of what she's got. Things change. She's okay with that.

* * *

Erin gets better, and stronger, and her hair starts to grow back in, baby-fine and surprisingly blonde. She keeps wearing Patty's headscarf until it literally falls apart.

* * *

Patty starts dating a chemistry teacher from work. He's a nice guy, the sex is great, and he treats her like a princess. She takes him out to dinner with her Ghostbuster girls, and when they're getting ready to order Erin gives her a shy thumbs-up from behind her menu.

It's good. It's all good. They have their own lives, and they see each other when it's comfortable. Patty likes him and trusts his opinion. It's not the wild tidal wave of emotion she'd chased when she was younger: it's calm and quiet and based on mutual respect. She slaps Abby and Holtzmann whenever they try to ask her about the relationship, but sometimes she sits quietly and talks to Erin about it, and Erin listens.

* * *

Holtzmann moves into Erin's apartment. It's platonic as far as Patty knows, but she also never asks. Holtzy starts smiling all the time again, though, bright enough to rival the sun. 

Patty trusts them both enough to know they'd talk to her about anything they needed her to know. She knows everyone keeps a sparkling piece of themselves separate from the rest of the world. She doesn't begrudge them that. They've never begrudged her that.

* * *

They still meet for dinner and lunch and hanging-out time. She still meets Abby for coffee in the mornings, before they go their separate ways to work and their lives. She still watches terrible romantic comedies with Erin and keeps their vow of silence never to speak about it around the others. She still does late-night sandwich runs with Holtzy, listening to her talk about her inventions and not understanding any more now than she ever did. Abby writes another book. Erin puts the weight she lost back on. Holtzmann builds a time machine, which Patty thinks is a joke. Is pretty sure.

Patty still feels that electrical charge when she's with them. It runs through her blood, through her whole life. She thinks sometimes about changing things, about going back to school again perhaps, about following another dream. She might do it, or maybe not. She's smart enough. She's strong enough. She's got time. Whatever she decides to do, she's enough.


End file.
